A cold wet spell enshrouded southwest Kansas that spring, the storm clouds fading at times to bare an ashen sky. Awake before dawn, the marshal rose from his bed as he heard Ma Smalley's steps, the light thump of the hot water jug outside his room door and Ma's discreet knock.
Clad in his union suit, Matt had shaved and was washing up when another knock sounded, loud and urgent. "Who is it?" he called.
"Marshal, it's Violet."
"Give me a minute," said Matt. He quickly dressed, ran his fingers through his hair and opened the door.
Barefoot, she wore a blue silk dressing gown, her long, thick gold hair still in its night braid down her back. "Oh Marshal," said Violet. "Odin didn't come home last night. He said he was going for a walk after supper and maybe pay some visits and not to wait up for him, but he was still gone when I woke this morning; his side of the bed hasn't been slept in and I'm worried something happened to him."
"He might've spent the night at a friend's place, Violet," said the marshal. "It rained hard last night. He'll likely be back soon."
"Oh, I hope so," said Violet. "The melancholy's stricken him again somethin' fierce, and I don't know what to do. He was so happy when we married." She touched her palm to her chest.
Matt had noticed the changes in Odin, from deep gloom to a bemused serenity when Violet went sweet on him, then sinking into forlorn languor. Matt on occasion ate breakfast or supper in Ma Smalley's dining room, where Odin sat silently next to his wife, his gray eyes staring vacantly at his plate and his elfin features droopy, not touching his food until Violet prodded him to take some bites.
"Has Odin been drinking again?" said Matt.
"Not a drop since he proposed to me at that fish fry Kitty invited me to down to the jail. Odin told me he can't taste it without getting drunk. I'd a known if he had," said Violet.
"Then he's gotta be craving it, since he had a relapse of the melancholy," said Matt. "He been to the opium dens?"
Violet shook her head. "He'd be giddy addled if he was smokin' that stuff. It hangs onto a body. If Odin was tetched from a pipe, I'd see it when I come from my sewing job at Mrs. Brown's shop. Marshal, please look for him. I'm scared he's laying senseless with whiskey, dying in the mud from the pneumonia." Her dark-blue eyes filled.
"I'll have Chester help me look. We'll find him, Violet."
The storage shed in the clearing behind the depot was dark, dank and piled with scrap metal, firewood and planks, coal, and old chairs and tables.
"Odin?" Matt said, stepping inside.
He gingerly navigated the meager floor space, and was turning to leave when he stumbled over Odin's small form. He lay motionless on his stomach, an empty whiskey bottle and an empty laudanum bottle close to his right hand.
Matt bent down, turned Odin on his back, touched two fingers to his throat and found a thready pulse. His hat and coat were missing, and his hair, clothes and boots were wet and muddy. Matt picked him up and carried him to Doc's, feeling Odin's light bones like sticks through his clothes.
"He drank a whiskey bottle and one of laudanum," said the marshal, laying Odin on Doc's table.
"No surprise," said Doc, prying open Odin's eyelids. "Suicide attempt. Third time he's tried it."
"I hoped marrying Violet would cure him," said Matt.
"Well, Matt, I told you folks Odin couldn't handle marriage when Vi was sparkin' him," said Doc, reaching for his stethoscope. "It just isn't that easy with an alcoholic. Not that Vi's done him harm; she's a good woman. His chances are better on account of her care, for all he's too skinny from the melancholy."
"He's been skinny long as I've known him," said Matt.
"He's bony, now," said Doc.
"Will he live, Doc?"
"Don't know yet," said Doc. "I'll give him injections with healing salts solution, rub his limbs and knead the muscles vigorous to get his blood flowing and clean out the poison, warm him up. The rest is up to nature . . . and good care."
As Doc slept on his lounge that night, with Odin comatose and wrapped in blankets on the table and Violet sleeping in the bedroom, the marshal's voice, charged with urgency, invaded Doc's strange dream of arithmetic calculations and passages of text on neurology.
"A man's life depends on me discovering this solution, Matt," Doc snapped at Matt's disembodied dream voice. Hot irritation twisted like corkscrews through Doc's temples. "Hold a needle over the stove and dig out your own splinter. Just pour cold water over the needle so you don't burn yourself," Doc instructed.
"It's too deep for that," Matt's voice said in Doc's ear. "Besides, this isn't about me. She provides for him; he's not doing a thing. A man needs to work, Doc." A faint ghostly moaning drifted through Doc's rooms as Matt spoke.
Doc slapped at his ear. "Goldurnit, Matt," Doc swore. "How can I calculate these figures in this confounded din. Tell Kitty to take a double dose of laudanum so she can quit that moaning."
"Kitty's fine, Doc. You know she doesn't get women's complaint." The marshal's voice had returned to its steady, reasonable tone.
The moaning intensified, high and desperate. "Wake yourself, Doctor Adams," a white-coated man scolded. "You have a patient, by thunder."
And Doc woke up.
Keening, his eyes closed, Odin flailed in his cocoon of blankets. Wearing only her nightdress, Violet ran from the bedroom toward her husband, and Doc held up a staying hand before she reached the table.
Doc touched Odin's shoulder, patted his face and called his name. Odin's eyes blinked open, gray as the dawn sky yet clear as diamonds. He stopped thrashing and lay still, looking at Doc.
"Odin," said Doc.
"I'm not dead," Odin said in a low monotone.
"You wouldn't be looking at me if you were," said Doc. "Vi's here."
"Violet?"
Vi leaned over the table, smiled and stroked Odin's hair, gray as his eyes though he was thirty-four years old. "Sprite," she said softly, and kissed his forehead.
Five days later, Doc said Odin was sufficiently recovered to have a talk with Matt and Violet about work Odin liked, and what job the marshal could find. "I want Kitty at this meeting, Doc," said Violet. "A body needs a woman's company for such talk." Violet had worked at the Long Branch before marrying Odin and taking a job as seamstress at Mrs. Brown's dress shop.
Odin refused to meet without Chester. "Chester's my friend," Odin woefully said.
"What's the harm in having Chester in on our talk, Doc?" said Violet. "If it makes Sprite happy?"
"I'm never happy," said Odin.
"I don't think Chester would make a valuable contribution," said Doc.
"Come on, Doc," said Matt.
"Oh . . . alright," said Doc. "Just don't blame me if our meeting goes awry on account of Chester's ramblings."
"I like his ramblings," Odin said.
Kitty was excited about the meeting, to be held at lunchtime in Doc's office. "We'll have beef sandwiches with butter on rye, pickles and eggs hardboiled, and chicken soup, since it's bound to be another cold day. And apple pie," she said.
"You doing the cookin'?" said Matt.
"You know I'm not," said Kitty. "I'm ordering everything from Delmonico's."
Doc stoked the stove fire so his rooms were comfortably warm. Violet toasted a slice of rye over the stove, spread a thin layer of butter, served it to Odin with soup, and sweetened his coffee with brown sugar, mixing in cream. He nibbled at the toast and a spoon of chicken, relishing only the coffee.
"You figure on any work you'd like to do, Odin?" said Matt.
"Jailkeeper," said Odin, his voice soft and humble.
As Odin sipped his coffee, Matt met the mild eyes gazing at him over the cup brim. Odin's eyes abruptly widened and he set down his cup, his face flushing. "I beg your pardon, Chester," he said. "I don't mean I want your job."
Chester looked surprised at the apology. "Well forevermore, I know that, Odin," he said.
Violet put her arm around her husband as they sat on Doc's lounge. "Jailkeepin's kinda dangerous, Sprite," she said.
"It's what I want, my love."
"Oh, no harm would come to him, Mrs. Vaughan," said Chester. "Not with me an' Mr. Dillon lookin' out for him."
"You sure that's what you want, Odin?" said Matt. "Not meaning you don't know your own mind, but you and Chester bein' friends, maybe that's where you got the idea."
"I'm very flawed, Marshal," Odin said calmly, with no self-pity. "I understand flawed men."
"Odin, there's a big difference between a man with weaknesses and a malefactor," said Doc. "You go soft tending to the bad ones, you lose your watchful eye and bring out the venom in them. They'll figure you're easy prey."
"You see, honey?" Violet said to Odin. "You're not cut out for that sort of job.
"He feels too much for folks' hurting to see to jailed men," said Violet.
'I'd be careful, Marshal," said Odin. "Like you and Chester. I'm handy choring, and I can cook."
"Odin, you stopped wearing a gun after you married Vi," said Kitty.
"I only ever wore a gun to have it at hand if I decided to shoot myself, Miss Kitty. Chester doesn't wear a gun and he does a good job," said Odin.
"Waal . . . ah don't do all that much," said Chester. "I ain't softhearted on 'em, though. I'll shoot ma target clean through the heart when the need arises."
"Odin doesn't even hunt," said Violet. "He can't stand shooting a rabbit, a man let alone. Odin would let a man shoot him dead on account of he couldn't pull the trigger."
"He fishes," said Chester, crunching a pickle.
Matt and Doc, Kitty and Odin and Violet all looked at Chester. "I warned you folks about Chester and this meeting," said Doc.
"Huh?" said Chester.
"If I hire you, Odin, gunfighting won't be part of your job anyway," said Matt. "You won't wear a badge. You'll be an assistant, like Chester."
"You're gonna hire him, Matt?" said Kitty.
"I'd try my utmost to be a help, Miss Kitty," said Odin. "I can help the men in jail bear their imprisonment and keep my guard up around them, too. I know how it is to hurt so inside, you want to die to ease the pain. I understand."
"Chester and I can use your help," said Matt. "You want to work for me, Odin, you have to eat. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Whole meals, not just a bite or two."
Odin's mouth curved up a little, the sorrow which never quite left his eyes disappearing a moment in as much of a smile as any in the room, his wife included, ever saw on his sharp-featured face. He rose from his chair and squared his shoulders as he moved to stand before the marshal.
Although Matt was tempted to stay seated, which would bring his eye level closer to that of Odin, who was no taller than Kitty and shorter than Violet, the marshal figured that keeping his seat would disrespect Odin. When you made an agreement with a man, you shook his hand on your feet.
Matt stood, towering over Odin, and Chester moved to stand beside Matt. A familiar uneasiness settled on the marshal as he engulfed Odin's small hand in his, and he wondered at how his desire to take care of folks at times overruled his sound judgment. Smiling, Chester shook Odin's hand.
"Oh," said Violet. "Oh, Sprite. Kitty . . . ." She went to Kitty and reached for her hand.
"Don't worry, Vi," said Kitty. "Matt and Chester will look out for him."
"I'll make it my business to keep a watchful eye on Odin, Mrs. Vaughan," Chester reassured. "Part of ma job, like keepin' the coffee brewin'. Ain't that so, Mr. Dillon."
"Sure," said Matt.
"What're you shakin' yer head at, Doc," said Chester.
"Hmm? Oh, nothin'. Got a little itch in my ear, here," said Doc.
"You come to the marshal's office early tomorrow morning, Odin,' said Matt. "We'll breakfast at Delmonico's, and Chester will show you the ropes."
"We won't have ya doin' too much ta once, Odin," said Chester. "Let you git some meat on your bones first. I'll do the bigger heap of chorin' and sech, seein' as ah'm the strong assistant."
"I'd like to . . . kind of keep the prisoners company," said Odin. "The ones that aren't a danger, I mean. Chat with them, ask them if they need anything; maybe when it's safe, play checkers or backgammon with them in the cell. That is, when you don't need me for anything else, Marshal."
"You have to stay watchful, all the time," said Matt. "And before you chat with a prisoner or set with 'em in the cell, ask me."
"Yes, sir."
Odin wanted only a soft-boiled egg, one buttered biscuit, and coffee the next morning at Delmonico's. "Odin, you'll never gain weight eating that way," said Matt. "You'll keep losin', and you're already too skinny. I told you yesterday, you wanna work for me, you have to eat. You'll be too weak for the job otherwise."
Odin sighed. "You order the food for me, Marshal. I'll try to eat it. I've always eaten light."
"A body kin make hisself sick, eatin' more'n he can hold, Mr. Dillon," said Chester.
"I'm not telling Odin to stuff himself, Chester. Just a normal breakfast for a man."
"Fer a man Odin's size, half that, maybe," Chester argued. "He's 'bout half my size, and if you calculate two halves and chop it ta four pieces, I make three of them pieces, and you make four, Mr. Dillon. Only I eat more'n you, you bein' bigger than me, irregardless. So Odin oughter eat half what you eat, not me."
"Chester," said Matt. "Never mind. We'll have the waiter bring Odin a half order."
Odin looked scared when his breakfast arrived, though the waiter gave him half the amount of food served to Matt and Chester, who both ordered eggs, flapjacks and sausage.
"It'll get cold if you set and stare at it, Odin," said Matt. "Eat." Odin shook his head.
"He cain't, Mr. Dillon." Chester filled his fork with flapjack slices dripping syrup, and put them in his mouth. "He's overcome," Chester explained around the mouthful. "It's all too much."
"Well . . . ." said Matt. "Just eat what you can, Odin."
"I can't eat any of it," said Odin.
"Alright," the marshal said patiently. "I guess I'm starting you off with too much food. I should've asked Doc about this."
"No need askin' Doc, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I jest tole you 'twas way too much."
"Chester," said Matt. "Can you eat what you wanted to order, Odin? Soft-boiled egg and biscuit. We'll go slower. A little more at a time."
"Yes, sir," said Odin.
Except for not eating enough, Odin meticulously obeyed Matt's orders without delay or complaint. Odin regarded Chester as second-in-command, only Chester never ordered him. Chester knew Odin preferred tending to the prisoners over chores and errands, and when Matt told him to go to the post or wash the windows, Chester said, "Oh, I'll see to it, Mr. Dillon."
The marshal couldn't figure it through, as Chester though trustworthy and tidy was not industrious. He disliked cleaning up, particularly window washing.
"Let Odin go today, Chester," said Matt, when Chester said, "I best go fer the mail."
The marshal waited until Odin closed the door and they heard his light boot steps moving down the walk. "Chester, I hired Odin to do more than see to the prisoners' needs," said Matt. "A marshal's assistant does more. I shouldn't have to tell you that."
Chester hated being scolded, and he gave Matt a reproachful look. "I thought you hired Odin to cure him of the melancholy, Mr. Dillon. He perks up when he tends to the men. I said nothin' when you told 'im ta clean the stove, and he drug hisself to it like a li'l shadow 'bout to fade away. He kin sweep up in any back street roomin' house. Odin'd do better with no job at all, jest havin' Mrs. Vaughan take on the care of 'im, like she was afore, ruther than drudgin' roun' here makin' hisself worse. He asked to work fer you so's he kin help the men in jail and lift the cloud offen his head, an' he says he'll do chores and sech jest to git the job," Chester finished, breathless.
Realizing he'd known all that without thinking on it since hiring Odin, Matt gazed thoughtfully at Chester. "The jail cells are empty, now, Chester," said Matt. "They're empty a lot of the time."
"Yessir. Odin needs restin' spells. His head makes it hard for 'im if he don't have 'em, and he has trouble eatin', 'sides. He can sleep when there ain't no men in the jail to see to, or read or pass the time with me, play checkers and sech. He likes ma penny books," said Chester. "So's he won't be in their room at Ma Smalley's 'lone to hisself with Mrs. Vaughan at the shop."
His blue eyes probing and quizzical, Matt kept looking at his friend. Chester's face turned red. "I knowed you hired Odin for yer assistant, Mr. Dillon, but some parts of the job jest ain't good for 'im."
"Alright, Chester," said Matt. "You know quite a bit about Odin's affliction. Doc teach you?"
"Cain't rightly recollect what Doc larned me," said Chester. "I ask somewhat, but Doc's answers makes me muddledy betimes."
"Well, you might be right about Odin," said Matt. "We'll do how you said with him." The marshal grinned. "You have some wise ideas, Chester. That's a big help to Odin."
"Oh, it ain't nothin' much, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "Odin and me's grew ta friends. That's how maybe I knowed."
When Odin returned from the post with a stack of Wanted circulars, Matt leafed through them, stopping at a tintype of a man named Norse Brand with the telltale blank face and empty eyes of a gun for hire. There was a twenty-five thousand dollar reward on Brand's head, dead or alive. Matt had seen him at the Long Branch.
As Brand was known for his fast reflexes, Matt sneaked up on the gunman as he leaned on the Long Branch bar drinking whiskey, and snaked his gun from the holster. Brand froze rigid, his eyes distended, then squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing.
"He won't shoot you," Sam told the gunman, seeing the color drain from Brand's face. "He's a lawman."
Brand's eyes opened as he stood unmoving. "I been shot by lawmen before," he said.
"I won't shoot ya," Matt said to the back of Brand's head, sticking his gun in the marshal's belt. "You're going to jail."
Brand straightened up and turned, and his eyes widened again as he lifted his head to meet Matt's eyes. "There ain't no use fightin' you," said Brand.
"Nope," said the marshal. "Let's go, Brand."
"I'll hang," said Brand, as he moved toward the batwings ahead of Matt.
"The judge will decide that," said the marshal.
Chester and Odin were playing checkers at the table when Matt walked in with the gunman. Matt had told them about the Wanted poster, and that he was arresting Brand.
Chester rose from his chair, took the jail key from its peg, unlocked the near cell and swung open the door. Brand sneered at Chester, then the gunman's expressionless eyes sized up Odin, like a wolf eyeing a rabbit. Odin returned Brand's gaze with the curiosity aroused in the law-abiding by the soulless.